Cethe (53 page)

“Are they looking for Michael?”

“It’s possible, I suppose,” Michael replied. “But we have a bigger problem. Grandfather is due with the Blackmarsh troops any

day.”

The conspirators exchanged dismayed looks.

“I’l leave at once,” Michael said. “It’s unthinkable that he should ride into Shia with the Archbishop lurking about.”

“Good idea,” said Auron. “I’l leave for Tantagrel, too.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” retorted Michael with a look at Stefn.

“I won’t betray you!” Stefn said, fired up.

“Locke wil eat you alive! He’s a knightmage, remember? Think of him as a naragi in priest’s clothing.”

“The press!” Auron exclaimed.

They looked at each other in horror.

“Dismantle it!” ordered Michael, “and strew the pieces through the cel ar again. We can’t risk a search!”

Two days later, a Hunter lieutenant presented himself at Shia’s gate with the word that the Archbishop was doing a northern

tour of the parishes and hoped to cal upon the new earl at Lord Eldering’s earliest convenience.

Wishing he could turn Locke away, Stefn reluctantly sent back an invitation for His Eminence to cal the next day. He got very

little sleep that night.

The next afternoon, his august visitor arrived, accompanied by two Dragon officers and a trio of ordinary mages. Stefn

greeted them in the newly remodeled Great Hal . While servants brought refreshments, Stefn introduced himself and welcomed his

guests, al the while trying not to stare at Locke.

He’d seen the Archbishop only once before and from a distance, in Lothmont the night of Michael’s aborted marriage

ceremony. Up close, Mazril Locke was younger than Stefn had thought, gauntly handsome and wel -built. Stefn recal ed he was a

Dragon as wel as the highest ranking priest in Tanyrin. At the moment, however, he was dressed as the priest in a long, dark-green

robe with a gold over-robe and elaborate jeweled neck-piece. His smile was unexpectedly charming.

“Lord Stefn. We meet at last!” Locke came forward, holding out his hand. Stefn had little choice but to take it and kiss the great

emerald ring there. The Archbishop’s hand tightened slightly, then quickly withdrew. He turned to Auron, who repeated the salute.

“And it’s good to see you again, Lord Chal ory.”

Locke took a seat, his attending mages doing likewise. Auron settled onto the sofa next to Stefn. The Hunters remained

standing, sharp-eyed and alert.

Hair lifting on the back of his neck, Stefn struggled to keep his composure. “It is an honor for Shia to host the Archbishop of

Tanyrin,” he said. “What brings you and your attendants to my poor parish?”

“A visit to Shia was long overdue.” Locke settled back in the chair, looking around approvingly. “Indeed, your people have

always governed the parish so wel , I’m afraid we on the Celestial Council took Shia for granted. When my aides consulted the

records, we realized it has been nearly seventy years since we’ve included Shia in our Northern Tour. I do hope my visit has not

inconvenienced you, my lord?”

Stefn was seized by the realization that the Archbishop sat where his father had died. “O-of course not, Your Eminence.”

The archbishop looked around the Hal , the sparkling chandeliers, the polished flagstones. “I understand you have Prince

Severyn to thank for much of Shia’s recent good fortune,” he said.

“His Highness has been very generous.”

“The vil ages look to be in excel ent condition, given the circumstances. I can see where al Severyn’s funds have been going

lately. Also, Abbot Drummond was ful of praise for your invaluable assistance during the flood.”

Stefn could imagine. He smiled weakly. “Caring for the people of Shia is the Eldering’s duty.”

“For their bodies, indeed so.” Locke bent his disconcerting smile on Stefn. “Just as the Church must care for their souls.”

The refreshments arrived, saving Stefn from having to respond. Over t’cha and sandwiches, the conversation turned to more

innocuous subjects: the weather, books, and Society. Stefn had little to contribute to the last, having never been to any court, High

or Low. He listened, trying to fol ow al the different names and titles.

“You must come to Lothmont and present yourself formal y to His Majesty,” said the Archbishop. “Now that we’ve met, I can

see the stories I’ve heard of you are greatly exaggerated.”

“S-stories, Your Eminence?”

“To be frank, my lord, I had expected to find you sickly and with a limp. Oddly enough, your birth was recorded in Zelenov as

being Marked as a sin-catcher, yet, if you’l forgive my presumption, you’re a man of considerable beauty.”

“I was il frequently as a child,” said Stefn, disconcerted to hear himself so described. “And I was born with an extra toe. If that

makes me a sin-catcher, then yes, I am.”

The Archbishop’s smile turned sympathetic. “Is that so? How unfortunate. Stil , it seems a very smal thing. Given the string of

terrible events here, perhaps Loth’s rage has been assuaged.”

“I pray it’s so, Your Eminence, for the sake of Shia’s people.” Stefn searched desperately for a way to graceful y change the

subject. Auron came to his rescue, commenting on the improvements made to the castle with Lothlain’s benevolence.

Stefn was on easier ground as the proud host. He led his guests on a tour of the house, displaying its numerous updates and

receiving the polite exclamations of surprise and admiration along the way. When he opened the door to the north wing, the

astonishment of his unnerving guests became real.

“Moonstone!” The Archbishop stood just inside the door, running his hand over the smooth, lustrous stone. “How unexpected!

I’d not realized the house was so old.” But he sounded vaguely displeased and said nothing more until they reached the library.

“Spectacular,” he said hol owly, looking around at the rows of restored mahogany bookshelves, the soaring stained glass

windows and, sharply, at the once-secret room, its iron door now standing open. “What’s this?”

They had come up with a story, he and Auron. Stefn let it spil glibly off his tongue. “We found it when we stripped off the old

paneling. My father had an old medal ion he wore constantly. The medal ion turned out to be the key, of al things.”

“How very interesting,” said the Archbishop. He walked forward and peered in. Stefn knew what he’d find: a reading table and

chairs, comfortable rug and a bookshelf fil ed with books they’d grabbed at random from the stacks outside. “Is this how you found

it?”

“Oh, no. It was dirty and dusty and there were a few things, some old paintings, some vases, a bit of jewelry stored inside.”

Stefn shrugged. “A lot of excitement for nothing, I’m afraid.”

“I see. What a shame. I don’t suppose you found anything of religious value?”

Stefn felt the apprehensive prickling up his spine. “No, Your Eminence.”

“I ask because there is some record in Zelenov of the Elderings being given custody of a rare, pre-Reformation relic.”

Stefn shook his head, the prickling turning sharp and cold. “I’m afraid not, Your Eminence.”

“Your father never mentioned such a thing to you?”

“My father did not expect that I would inherit,” Stefn replied.

Locke acknowledged the truth of that with a disappointed grimace. “Perhaps you know of some other place: a safe, perhaps?

A hidey-hole in the wal s or floorboards?”

Stefn dutiful y reported the presence of the priests’ hole where he had hidden so unsuccessful y from Michael — it seemed

like an eternity ago. At Locke’s request, he escorted them to it, demonstrating the door mechanism and showing them the shadowy,

rune-etched interior; runes he knew were useless.

“What is this relic?” Stefn asked while the mages prowled around the cramped interior.

“The records are not clear,” replied the Archbishop. “Only that it is from before the Reformation and of great spiritual value to

al of Tanyrin. A statue, perhaps? A book? A piece of St. Aramis’ personal belongings? I’m sure we would know should we find it.”

“You are welcome to look throughout the castle,” said Stefn honestly. “I wil be happy to lend you whatever assistance I may.”

The Archbishop smiled and set his hand on Stefn’s shoulder. “Thank you, Lord Eldering. I expected nothing less from the son

of Lord Wil iam, our brother and loyal servant. I admit, reports I’d received from the abbot gave me cause for some concern, but now

that we’ve met and talked, I see Drummond worries unnecessarily.”

“Report?” Stefn did his best imitation of Lord Arranz, lifting an eyebrow and adopting an expression of mild amusement. Auron,

standing immediately behind the archbishop, rol ed his eyes. Stefn looked away, afraid he’d burst into nervous laughter.

“You’d forbidden the housing of Penitents on Shian soil.”

Stefn struggled to keep his mind on the dangerous matter before him. “Shia has never permitted it.”

The two mages had finished their examination of the hidey-hole. They came out into the corridor, shaking their heads.

“Drummond is under the apprehension that you wil permit h’nara to settle freely in the parish.”

Auron snorted derisively. “As if he would do such a thing, eh, Eldering?”

“The grandson of the Duke of Blackmarsh was a guest here recently, was he not?”

“Lord Michael is a close friend of His Highness,” replied Stefn stiffly. “I would never presume to criticize the Crown Prince’s

associations.”

“Ah, so that’s how it is. I suspected as much.”

The archbishop’s manner continued to warm. When Auron, damn him, blithely suggested Lord Locke remove from the abbey

to the undoubtedly more comfortable surroundings of Castle Shia, the archbishop was delighted to accept.

“Are you mad?” hissed Stefn as soon as he got the idiot alone.

“What are you afraid of?” Auron whispered back. “There’s nothing here for him to find. Relax and play the gracious host.”

“But al the troops, what about them?”

“Are easily explained away. After al , Shia original y accommodated a thousand men.”

“During the war!”

“True, but think on this. The Celestials likely know to a man the number of troops in western Tanyrin. The Office of the

Exchequer is overseen by clerics, after al . If they imagine so many of those troops are here, they’re likely to underestimate how

many are stil in the south.”

“What of the servants?”

“Are handpicked by Severyn. Honestly, you worry too much!”

Lord Locke proved to be a pleasant guest and didn’t disdain to have lively, intel ectual debates with his hosts. Stefn could not

relax, however. He was acutely aware that while he and Auron entertained the archbishop, the mages made their way systematical y

through the castle, looking for what he suspected was the true second Chronicle. Stil , many of the questions they asked had little to

do with missing relics.

“They wanted to know about Lord Michael, m’lord, and how many guardsmen are stationed here,” reported Hanson, adding

confidently, “Don’t you worry, sir. We know how to handle the likes of them!”

Sure enough, within a few days, Lord Locke pronounced himself disappointed, but satisfied that the artifact he sought was not

in the castle.

“Perhaps it was stolen long ago,” Auron suggested, “and no one dared to report it.”

“More likely one of my il ustrious ancestors found and sold it,” Stefn replied lightly. “It’s expensive to maintain a garrison of

fighters on such unproductive land. I look forward to the day when keeping a dedicated security force wil no longer be necessary.”

“Yet, if you would only permit Penitents in Shia, you would be able to do precisely that, my lord.” Locke tipped his wine glass

toward Stefn to make his point. “The Penitents would natural y be accompanied by Hunter troops. Being the host parish, you would

benefit from these troops’ presence at wel , and none of it at your expense.”

“I wil discuss your proposal with His Highness,” said Stefn, having no intention of al owing any such arrangement, “and be

guided by his advice.”

It was not the answer Locke wanted, but he put a good face on it, turning the conversation to the subject of antiquities. History

was a subject where he and Stefn had a mutual interest, so the remainder of the evening was spent harmlessly enough.

In the morning, he and his companions said their goodbyes. “We’l return to the abbey long enough to speak with Drummond.

Then it is back to Zelenov. I hope you may find the time to visit us some day, Lord Eldering. I think you would be as impressed with

Zelenov’s libraries as with Withwil ow’s.”

Stefn was interested, in spite of himself. He hoped the Archbishop wouldn’t be too upset with Severyn as a king.

No sooner had they departed than Auron turned and headed back into the house. “I need a drink,” he announced.

“It’s not yet eight o’clock!”

“These have been the most nerve-shattering three days of my life.” Auron made straight for the parlor where he poured